Mercy Me
by AsianOne
Summary: He's insane. He's without hope. Without faith. And soon without will to live. When a interesting young woman who sees color in sound promises him she can change all that will he finally be able to trust someone? [LEMON ALERT]SakuGaa. R&R please.
1. Chapter 1

**Mercy me**

_You're on you're own my little nightmare. You cannot stay here, it far too bright for you. If they attack you, just lay there. Play dead dear, it's your only hope of pulling through. And seconds seem like a lifetime, a dream recurring. A dream that can't come true. And they'll pin it all on you after all you've been put through._

As the cold pries him out of dreamless sleep he broke into a cruel smile. Every breath he took, was another sin committed. Every scream, every choked sob was the soundtrack to his whole life. Things are different now. No screams. No tears. No blood. He doesn't recognize anything, but he is not alarmed, he is relieved. The white walls, his lead heavy arms, it was all so relieving. He is away. Away from home. Away from **Him**. Father. His number one excuse for becoming a bastard. Literally. His Father killed her long ago. But it wasn't terrible as it sounded he didn't remember her much. Besides, she didn't love him. When his father wasn't slapping his head off he was pounding it in. He didn't mind the beatings much. They say pain doesn't hurt when that's all you've ever felt. Father was gone. Pain was gone and what was left was an empty feeling and what remained was a strong urge to kill, to fill the hallow feeling.

_Run along my little nightmare. Your job is done here, you've scared them all to death. If they revive them just sit there, just smile dear. Make them thankful for every breath._

How has he come here? He has forgotten if he ever knew. This place belongs to cold and darkness. And he belongs to this place. He feels a chuckle escape his lips. How could he laugh like that? Where did it come from? For so many years life couldn't make up its mind whether to beat him like a dog or ignore him like one. He never once known what he needed. He never knew what he was doing. How could he laugh? His eyes bore in to the white of the walls as he ponders. He had never seen so much white, it seemed a lame attempt to cover up how every corridor was septic with despair, each of the neatly numbered room an abscess of fear or fury. Silence is soon put to an end. Footsteps echo across the room. A timid woman in a white coat meekly steps toward him.

"Gaara, you have a visitor."

_This sentence may seem like a lifetime, a scream that's curdling the blood they found on you and your knives and clothing too, Charlie's broken .22_

_Well, they found you and they shipped you up the river tge same way that you bound and gagged, you shot and stabbed. You tried to set them free but they've thrown away the keys._

It was yet another woman in a white coat. Not again. They're all the same. Give it up. The voice won't leave. He can't outshout it. He'll be cured when he dies.

"Gaara?" the woman whispers.

He ignores her call. Instead of listening he focused on the item hidden in his pocket the last thing his father-if you could call him that- gave him. The only gift that he ever gave him. A knife. A nice knife too. Nothing boyscout about it. Made for stabbing and not much else.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk. I think I can do enough talking for the both of us. " the small woman says quietly.

"It's a nice day isn't it?" she muses, looking out at the view.

"Leave" he growls. It wouldn't matter if they could cure him. The voice would stay. The need for blood to spill would stay. No one would care. As long as they didn't get hurt.

She still stays firm, a smile forced on to her lips, humming a tune, fixing the crooked flowers that were falling out of te cracked vase.

"Why do you stay? I know you fear me. I can feel it." he feels the harsh words gush out of his mouth. It feels good.

The girl stays silent for a moment, "I am afraid of you. I won't lie. I stay because I want to." Her eyes, they shift back and forth, her voice is shaky and searching for just the right words. But there was something about the way she said that, and he knew she meant it with every bone in her body.

"Why?" he feels his own voice become softer.

"Why not?" she answered, looking in to his eyes. To her surprise they are much like hers, and not just in color. They way they showed emotion. The boy was as stoic as any one could be, but his eyes, they told everything. His eyes were entry in to feelings you couldn't put in to words no matter how many dictionaries you used.

"Because I could kill you at anytime." he felt his hand tightly grip around the knife, he pulled the knife out quickly. Those beautiful eyes flashing in excitment.

She shrugs, "That's not the worst thing that could happen,"

He releases his grip on the knife.

"I don't know why I'm here or who you are. But I do know you murdered many people for no reason. And I do know you need someone who understands you. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing or if I even understand you. But I'm just asking for a chance to help you," she pauses,"I'm here to make the voices go away."

He smirks at the thought. She's here to help me; make the voice go away. What a load of crap.

She tells him that she'll visit him tomorrow. He tells her he'll kill her if she ever steps in the room again. She says she will come back even if he does.

He whimpers, he dreads it, he can't wait.

**Hey Lauren in this hizzy, whaddya think? My second serious fic. Did I bore you? Well, tell me what you think and _I'll _think about continuing. Read and review. Oh the lyrics are from Alkaline Trios' Sadie G. I think it fit so perfectly for this story! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Mercy Me**

This is not a place for healing. One may live or die here, but one cannot hope. If you listen closely the corridors echo the ghosts of a thousand cries and groans and curses. The very air tells its own history of stale pain. And I- I bring no hope here. No healing. I have told myself otherwise. But I have lied. I am here to give these walls another ghost to hold, another scream to echo. I have come to kill. Despite, that was opposite of what my job really was.

_"I've come to make the voices go away." _

Bullshit. Yeah, I've come to make the voice go away, but I'm going to have to kill you. Total, utter bullshit. I dread every visit. Each of them different. Every one made me feel guiltier by the second. Gaara. He was unpredictable. Sometimes he would talk. Sometimes he wouldn't. At best he was a child, eager to be noticed no matter what. At worst Gaara was a demon from the very depths of hell. He was a beautiful disaster just waiting to happen. The quiet before a storm. The rain before a drought. Gaara. He was there. Whether you wanted him to be or not.

_It's been a long day living with this. Its been a long time since I felt so sick. I took a long walk straight back home.__ I could've walked back to San Francisco.  
_  
Gaara, he needed to be destroyed. No matter what. He was wrong. Killing is wrong. Even if he didn't know any better or couldn't help himself he was still wrong. For that, and that reason alone, he needed to die. And I am the only person for the job. I know when his bloodlust screams. I know when he's confused. I know when he wants something bad enough to kill for it. I have the gift of Synesthesia. I can see colors where most people hear words or sounds. The colors grow intensely bright when he's angry. Fade to gray, when he's sad. And I can only guess what colors he makes when he's happy. I've never seen him happy.

_I used to long for time alone. I used to long for a place of my own. And I'm losing faith in everything.I'm lost, so lost, I'm lost at sea, you see. I used to long for broken bones. I used to long for a casket to call my own. I never had a problem facing fear. But I'm done, over andout, my dear.  
_

My job was to kill him when he is most vunerable. God knows, what would happen if anyone were to kill him at this very moment. My job is dangerous but I'd save so many lives. But it drives me insane. All my life I trained to save lives. Now I am to take one away. The thought of a next visit makes me shudder in excitement. Yes, the boy has killed people but the way he looks at me. That cold hard stare. The glowing red intensity of the word 'kill' when the word falls from his lips. It excites me. His vocabulary isn't exactly large. It usually consists of words like: kill, murder, spill, blood. But each time the colors are different. The word blood could be bright indigo, like a sun kissed blackberry or a deep brown, like moist dirt. Each sentence is like a new language. An overload of color flooding my vision. It's hard to even look at him. The sounds of his breathing are blue-black as midnight. Every visit I'm not sure what new color he will speak next. But I do know it will be amazing.

_And oh mercy me, God bless catastrophe. There's no way in hell, we'll ever live to see through this so drive yourself insane tonight, it's not that far away and I just filled up your tank earlier today.  
_

* * *

**_Okay, thanks to five VERY cool reviews I'__m updating again. I'm not all that okay with his chapter but it'll suffice. It's short though but whatever-I updated. I'm really counting on the next chapter-it's Gaara pov. Well, check out my new fic, Unwell(a collection of all my oneshots plus a couple others.) Read and review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Mercy Me**

Perfect moments merit some recognition. Her voice alone captivates him. The first visit was indeed the beginning. Since then, many visits have followed. Today, it will be a month since the first one. Thirty-one visits in a row. Thirty-one fucking visits and the voice still isn't gone. Yet he has faith. It's funny though-he has faith. He has faith even though, he knows deep down it's a lie. Deep down, he knew it was probably some plan to kill him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Hi" she quietly says as she walks in the room.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't feel like talking. Not this time. Instead he stares blankly at the knife. Again. She says nothing when he starts running the knife in and out of the thin sheets. He continues upward and makes short work of the blanket underneath his legs. They don't talk at all. She stares, he slices. Two hours pass and she's still here shreds of cloth lay where the sheets and blankets used to be, not a single word passes either of their lips. She looks at him the whole time. Every glance made it harder for him not use the knife on her. It really was hard. He grips the handle harder. The feeling she gave him, it made him scared. It made him fearful because he couldn't control it. This new feeling- it was like the voice- he wasn't in charge of it. He was forced to let it take its own course and there was nothing he could do about it. That exact thing is what terrified him the most. The feeling of being helpless. Not knowing. He was utterly venerable and he knew it. This feeling is what he despised the most. The voice suggests that if she was dead the feeling would be gone also. He ponders, fingertips rubbing the blade's smooth wooden handle. A new thought pops in his head: If the feeling was gone she would be too. Fucking voice. He releases the knife. It was times like these when the words would flood out. He wasn't sure what he was saying, his mouth would always be moving too fast for him to figure out what exactly he was trying to say. This was one of those times. She doesn't say a word, no; she doesn't even _look_ at him. She begins to walk out of the door and when she does he feels a soft, gentle, aching pain, coming directly from the bright red muscle buried deep within his chest. But just for a moment or two it stays. He doesn't know for certian why the feeling lingered. But if there is one thing he does know, its that he wants it to come back.

**I lied I'm sorry. It's not Gaara POV and its short. I promised gin-inu an update so here it is. Sorry, it's kind of really bad. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Mercy Me**

I don't want to kill him. The colors. They will be gone. The huffs of raven when he breathes, each breath much more important than the last. His name color- mud brown with specks of sky blue in it, mushy like oatmeal. The lime green spirals of the sound of the knife sliding in. It will all be gone. No one can give me colors like he can. That's why I love him and that's why I hate him. He's forced me to rely on him. He's given me a reason to let him live. But if anything, he also has given me a reason to live. Each color, a plead, a scream, another reason to live life to its fullest, even for a moment longer. He's given me something to look forward to. I shake my head at that thought. Letting him live, that wasn't even an option. He kills people. He needs to be punished. But is it right to kill someone as punishment for murder? That's like fighting a war for peace. Stupid. Ineffectual. Uncalled for.

He screamed as I walked in the doorway. The colors float around. Each different color escorted by a puff of midnight. I can't comprehend what he says. I do know that it probably isn't very friendly. I could see the faint streaks of mango, still lingering in the air from an _l_. His words, they're colorful but they all have an orange-red glow tinge, like the multi-colored leaves of a tree in the middle of a fall sunset. He's angry, bothered. Annoyed. As the last remnants of the colors fade away, his sudden silence dawned on me. It also disappointed me. It disappointed me to a point where

I finally realized I was addicted. I craved those colors. I craved him. And like any good addict I'd always need "just one more" fix.

_"She showed me things I never knew existed. I'd do anything for her. Even murder, if I believed it was necessary. How can something like that be wrong if it's done with love?"_ His sudden whispering caught me off guard.

Purple swirls, a dash of crimson, a dab of sage, cotton candy pink with faint candy apple green stripes, every color you could think of plus colors you didn't know existed-it was all there, plain as day for me to see. And I'm going to kill the person who showed me this? It's something to think about.

"They're beautiful..." I mused to myself, transfixed on the last brilliant shade of teal exploding in to a lighter, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky-blue, not quite realizing what I had said aloud.

"What?" He asked in a small, soft voice, exactly the opposite tone of how he was acting earlier.

"The colors" I said nonchalantly, still not knowing really what I was saying.

"What colors?" His voice still small, child-like, and full of wonder. Sometimes it's hard to believe he's killed people.

"The colors you make when you talk they're-" I stopped myself, finally realizing what I was talking about and who I was talking to.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled the pathetic excuse for an apology. What good was the word sorry? What would change by saying sorry? It's the most useless word in the dictionary. But also probably one of the most used.

"It doesn't matter. It's not like I could see them if I wanted to anyway." He snapped, his tone cold, all traces of wonder and child-like vulnerability were gone. Like the last few minutes I spent was with a different Gaara.

"Gaara" I said, reaching a hand out to comfort him. He jerked away like he just touched fire and burned his hand and turned away from me. How stupid of me; he obviously didn't like to be touched.

"Gaara" I said again, this time not touching him.

When he finally turned to me and put on his poker face, finger encircled around the knife. I don't have another face so I just wore my regular one. The one that is home to a million different tears and at least twice as many emotions.

"Gaara, you're color-blind aren't you?" I asked softly, even though it was more a conformation than an actual question. His eyes shifted and he finally focused on mine.

"Yeah" he said slowly, like it was a shame to admit it or a deep, dark secret. Who knows? Maybe to him it was.

I chuckled a little, at the irony of him being color-blind,

"Do you think that it's funny that I'm color-blind?" he whispered in a dangerously quiet voice, fingers pressed harder on the knife handle.

"Is this another reason for you to treat me like a dog like my old man did? That would be no surprise," he whispered, a little louder than he had the first time, measuring each word like a dose of poison. His words were the color of a fall sunset again and with each word it got redder and redder and less orange. The urge for blood lingered in the air, no longer controlled.

"You're just like the rest of them." He said in a small voice. At that point I should have ran away as fast as I could, should have at least walked out and shut the door, just have done something to get away from him. He was Gaara and he had a knife. But I did something that probably would have gotten me killed if we both saw it coming. When I should have been running away, I found myself doing the exact opposite. I found myself holding him close, cradling his head like a baby. I didn't want to pull away from him, I didn't want to let go, give up the last facade of my sanity to him; he had everything else of mine. I was obsessed. The way his smooth, flawless skin melted on to mine, the contours of our body fit each others perfectly, like the purpose of his existence was made for me to hold him, his scent, fresh like wood, the navy huffs of his breath in deep contrast to the pale gold color that drifted out of my mouth as I breathed. The rise and fall of his chest, in synch with mine and unmistakably clear. The knife was released. And Gaara, notorious killer of over thirty people, let me hold him.

"We're some pair, Gaara, you can't see enough colors and I see too many." I whispered softly in his ear, as a mother would, a small act of reassurance that he probably never experienced before. His sudden shivering as my breath fell on his earlobe excited me. For some reason I felt in place, like it was something meant to be, in his arms, I felt like I belonged there. And for the first time in my life I had the vaguest of feelings; that _I_ was _right_. And in the back of my mind I know I am. We're some pair.

**Sorry for the late update. I said I'd update yesterday but I didn't. Please don't kill me.** **Well, I hope you enjoyed it. I think this was the best chapter I've written. Review please!**


	5. Chapter 5

**MERCY ME**

Sometimes I think the voice isn't really there and I'm making it up just so I have something to keep me busy. But if I am, how do you get it to stop? How do you get it out of your head? You can't, is how. You can't because that's where it lives.

The voice is louder and clearer than ever as she holds me in her frail arms. But it feels right. It feels good. But at the same time I hate it. She's what I need and the voice knows it. But that's why I hate her. I think what I hate the most is that I spend my entire day praying for her to show up, knowing that it might only be a for a moment or two, knowing that she might not even say a word, and knowing that it will still be enough. I hate how much I need her. I hate that I crave her with every fiber of my being. She's forced me to rely on her. I hate her. I hate her so much.

The weak arms wrapped around me, I try to brush off. She finally lets go of me.

"Sakura" I try her name out on my lips. I decide I like the way it rolls off my tongue. The voice likes it too. The voice likes her arms around me. The voice likes the feeling of her skin on mine. The voice wants to know what her smooth skin would look like with bruises. The voice doesn't like one thing, though. The voice doesn't like the feeling she gives me. The voice thinks it makes me weak. I think the voice is wrong. Well, I want to. I like the feeling.

She is still looking away as if nothing had happened. Because perhaps, nothing had. As soon as she turned away from me she turned back. Then suddenly, she's smiling. It's her usual brisk, false smile. The smile that tries to put a brave face on her misery, but fails time and time again.

"Bye" she says walking toward the doorway, still smiling, still lying.

She's a liar like the rest of them and she plays the same games too. Like the ones the nurses play: Pretend You Don't Hate Him, like it's a show on TV. Or the ones the doctors play: Pretend He's Going To Get Better. Or the game my Father played: Pretend You Want Him To Live.

They're all acting and I'm supposed to believe them. I'm supposed to believe she's here to help me. But she's just playing Pretend You're Not Here To Kill Him. And that makes her the biggest fake of all. That's another thing I hate about her. This is when I stop hating and start killing. Only I can't. I get so caught up in her smile that I can't even move. Even though it's fake, even though it's not me she's smiling at. But it gives me this horribly heavy feeling in my chest, like I'm suffocating, like the air in my lungs is being squeezed out of me and at the same time being filled with smoke. But it's warm, like a fizzing forrest fire in my chest, like all the pinecones in the trees are whooshing up and as the flames dance higher and higher I feel like nothing's wrong. Like she's not a fake. Like nothing terrible is going to happen. But I know something will.

So I play a game. My own game. It's nice to play my own game. My game is called Pretend Nothing Bad Will Happen. It's not ver fun because sometimes I can't play it. And sometimes it doesn't work. That's when I play Pretend You Are Loved. I liked that game the best. It's just too bad I forgot how to play.

**_Sorry for long wait on the update and its short. It's hard to write long chapters for this fic. I hope you liked it anyway. Sorry again; I've been busy._**

**_-Lauren_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Mercy Me**

_Something new:_

_Songs to listen to while reading:_

_Unwell-Matchbox 20_

_Miligrim Smile-From Autum to Ashes_

_Unholy Confessions-Avenged Sevenfold._

_Angel-Massive Attack_

_Cute without the E- Taking back Sunday_

_Radio- Alkaline Trio_

_Down with the Sickness-Disturbed_

_She_'s not coming today. Because today is the day that I visit The Doctor. And tommorow is the day The Doctor never wakes up. The voice hates The Doctor too.

_Weak. _It rasps. _Too weak._

"Gaara, how is life treating you?" The Doctor asks Question One, lowering her eyes to stare at my feet.

That's the only question The Doctor asks. Sometimes she doesn't even ask Question One and just waits for me to start but it never works because of the secret rule Don't Say Anything, so we just sit there until she can't stand it anymore and finally asks Question One. If I'm not playing Don't Say Anything I'll say fine or make up a story about my day. The Doctor is weak. She will believe anything I tell her either that or she pretends to. Pretending makes her even weaker. Today I'm not playing Don't Say Anything.

"Today I'm going to kill someone." I tell her

"Why?" The Doctor asks. She is not surprised.

"Because they are weak." I ran a hand over the knife safely tucked in my pocket.

"Maybe you just can't see how strong they are. Maybe their weakness is what makes them strong." The Doctor murmurs.

Silence. I'm not playing Don't Say Anything as The Doctor thinks. This game is much better. I don't have to think. I just move. Like, Don't Say Anything, my mouth doesn't need to open so the words can jumble out. All I need to do is slide the knife is out of my pocket and my fingers are perfect for the handle. Carving out a heart has never been so much fun. I've never felt skin so easy to tear in to. I've never seen so much surprise in her face. And as the knife slides in again, for a moment, I feel like I belong. But then the feeling is lost. Until the knife disappears into her skin again.

"M-M-Mama..."

I turn around. I thought I wasn't going to see _Her_ today. I guess I thought wrong.

"M-M-M-Mama" She is frozen in fear. The knife molded in my hand drops. Tears flow but no hand comes to wipe them. Her whole body shakes but not on her own will. She opens her mouth and screams loud enough to wake the dead. Only it doesn't.

Her face is glittered with tears. Her mouth is still open. But no sound comes out. Instead, She takes my face in her hands and presses her lips against mine. And I plunge in to a different world of pure feeling. It's like I have a fever in the middle of a snow storm while my heart is being ripped out, inch by inch. The kiss becomes a delicious frenzy by now. She tastes like the ocean. Salty and bittersweet. In her flavor I'm drowning, and I have nothing to hold on to. Nothing but _Her_. So I grasp _Her_ shoulders, swallow _Her_ in my arms and hold on. She seems so frail, so easy to break, so _weak. _But I keep holding on, keep holding on like it will save me. But from what? Death? This hell? Myself?

It doesn't matter because I'm going deeper in to the pitch black abyss. Every thought registered in my mind is in a jumble. I can't think. I can only feel the beating of her heart against mine.

_B-bump. B-bump. B-bump._

Never in my life have I ever wanted to hear that redundant beat continue forever. I could listen for hours. I could listen to her breathe until she stopped altogether.

I can feel her panting heavily now, gluping air between kisses. I can't do the same. It's getting harder to take a breath without feeling like it's going to kill me. I never want to let go. I want to hold on to the feeling for as long as possible. I never want to give it up.

I lose everything anyway. Because she turns away and runs out of The Doctor's office. She ran away with the blood of her own mother stained on her clothes and a piece of my soul as well. I take a deep breath in. Then another out.

_This was hard to write despite it's shortness but I had to update today because a dear friend of mine died. We just found out two hours ago. I decided the best way to honor her life was to update her favorite story. Isabelle, are you up there yet? This is Lauren. This one's for you. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Mercy Me**

She was never one to favor subtlety. She always seemed to say exactly what was on her mind. She knows that drives him crazy. That's the exact reason why she does it.

"Tact" he says. But then, he _can_ be a bit obtuse. He'll never say one word when twenty will do.

He's the silent type. And he even may seem like the strong type too. But he is not at all as what he seems. He's a coward underneath his intimidating interior. He's scared but won't admit it. On the other hand, she's brave. However, That doesn't mean she isn't scared. Because she _is_ scared. Probably more frightened than he is but the difference between the two of them is that she admits it. Being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means admitting you are and moving forward.

The sad thing is, she's no longer brave. She's lost her mind. She's insane. Those sleepless nights she spent crying over her mama turned in to sleepless months screaming to the white walls. Her breathing turned ragged. Her eyes were dull. She can no longer see. No longer feel. Just red. Don't get me wrong, the colors _were _all gone. Well, except one. But you could hardly call it a color. A urge might be a better word for it. The urge for red.

The blood.

She craved it.

She needed to see it.

The sin.

The red.

The blood.

For it to be spilt.

Across the floor.

On her.

Anywhere. Just for it to be there. She wants it more than anything else.

She tries to imagine what it might be like.

The smell.

The feel.

The taste.

But it's not enough.

Not nearly enough to feed her craving. Her eyes search for any kind of red. But it is not there. The walls are mocking her.

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

They seem to chant it over and over. But the walls are not red at all. So why is red all she sees? All she hears? Why won't it leave? The red. It's so close to her. She can almost taste it. Almost. She needs red. Needs it so bad. More than anything else. She needs to kill someone, anyone. She just needs to see the red. She cries it out to the walls. But they don't respond.

_"I need red."_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_"I need to see red. Blood. Anything. Just red."_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_"I need to see blood. I need to see it. Please."_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_"I need it."_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_"Please please please please PLEASE I NEED TO SEE RED!"_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_"Just the...red...please."_

_She's crying now. Tears of frustration. She lives to see red. Otherwise she'll end up dead. She tries to stay sane. She's holding on to her last shard of sanity but it only makes her worse._

_"I. NEED. RED."_

_No. No, I don't. I don't._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_I hate this._

_I hate who I am._

_I hate who I've become._

_I hate who I was._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_I need it._

_No, I don't._

_I live for it._

_No. _

_I live for red._

_I DON'T._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red_

_I hate this._

_I hate red._

_No, you need it._

_You crave red._

_NO, I DON'T!_

_Red._

_Red._

_Red. _

_I'm sick of you and tired of me._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_I just need red._

_Just red._

_Nothing else._

_NO!_

_Red. _

_Red._

_Red._

_Even when I close my eyes I see red. It's not there but it is. _

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_I hate you._

_Damn you._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_Mama._

_Red._

_Mama?_

_Red._

_Mama!_

_Red._

_MAMA!_

She opens her eyes. No red. She closes them.

_I don't need it._

_Yes. You do._

_I don't._

_You crave it._

_No!_

_You'll kill for it._

_NO!_

_You will._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

_Kill._

_Live._

_Breathe._

_Die._

_Happiness._

_Red._

_Red._

_Red._

She opens her eyes again and he's here. Finally she sees red. His clothes soaked with her mothers' blood. It's very red and very beautiful.

She doesn't know how he got here or even why he is here she just simply stares. He stares back. She opens her mouth to speak but only two words can worm their way out of her throat.

"Love me."

Those words were strong even though the way she said it made it sound more like a request than a command. It was clear to both of them that she needed him and he needed her more than anything. He was what she craved. They were two of a kind.

But his only answer,

"I can't. I won't."

She didn't falter,

"Why?"

"I don't know how."

_

* * *

_

_I overused the word 'red'. I know. Don't kill me. Anyways, this is the longest chapter for this fic I've ever typed. I'm happy with it. It's pretty sadistic, though. But I'm a pretty sadistic person. Don't let the Care Bear Pajamas throw you. If I'm not mistaken I think the lemon will be in the next chapter...I hope. _

_Oh and I drew a picture for this fic. It's on Deviant Art. I posted it late at night while I was at a friends house...So yeah t__he link to it is in my profile. My brother helped me with the shading and I wouldn't exactly say it's phenomenal or anything but I am proud of it. If Van Gogh had my attitude he wouldn't have had to chop his ear off. So I'm out to try and finish the next chapter my other fic, Little Miss Disaster which hopefully I can post by today. Later. _

_-Lauren _


	8. Chapter 8

**MERCY ME**

He needed no words. He was just there. She just simply understood. She could only stare at him and watch him as he stared back. The tension was becoming a physical force inside the room. She had to get out. But why does she hesitate? What instinct bids her, shun the man who killed her mother? She runs. Gaara caught up with her right before she reached the outside of the room. He pinned her to the wall in the corner of the hallway. Before her back had settled against the wall, one of his hands were cupping one full breast through the flimsy shirt. His thumb found her nipple and began stroking it into a hard point. She tried to be calm.

"What a-a-are y-you doing?" She tried her best to sound firm but she felt her body giving in to the pleasure.

"Loving."

"There's a difference between love and sex."

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His eyes told her all she needed to know. He needed her as much as she needed him. There was no love in his eyes. But there was none in hers either. An eye for an eye. They didn't want love. They wanted each other.

Sakura's hand reached over in attempt to brush back her hair, he caught it in his own. Heat spread from her fingers in his directly to the growing heat developing in between her thighs. Sakura's pulse pounded in her throat, giving away her calm persona. Gaara watched the pulse in the notch of her neck beat up against the delicate flesh there. For a moment he was fascinated by the small movement.

He watched her reaction to him for a moment. Her face remained a mask, but her eyes were growing dark with passion. It was all he needed. "I'm going to show you," his free hand took one of hers and guided it to his arousal hard and pressing against his pants. The sudden contact made her blush. He was growing hard under her open palm, while his other hand worked her breasts into tingling pleasure.

"Why I don't love," he finished as he ground out against her lips before he lifted her onto the bed.

She placed her legs around his waist when he pressed between her thighs with his hips. Tongues began to mate heatedly, and his hands moved under her shirt to squeeze her breasts through her bra.

Their breathing was becoming labored as he explored her with his hands and tongue. After a few moments, he pulled back and held her at arms length. "Sakura I'm going to fuck you now. Do you understand? Right here in this room, on this bed, I'm going to fuck you until you know exactly why you should have stayed away from me in the first place." He said it with passion blazing in his eyes. He also said it with danger in his voice. She knew from the moment he touched her that he wasn't going to be gentle. That was the only way she'd ever have it.

Sakura looked at him, trying to regain focus inside of her heated brain. "What if I don't want to stay away?" she almost didn't recognize her own voice as she issued the challenge.

The response she got was a low growl as he set to work sucking at the pulse in her throat, that small throbbing that had started a larger throbbing of his own that he was now trying to control as it rested against her mound. He never stopped sucking until a mark was left, claiming her as his own.

"You're going to stay away, Sakura," he warned. Again there was a groan at the sight of the soft skin and those two perfect mounds. His hands closed on them, kneading them hard.

Now it was Sakura's turn to moan. She arched her back, making her breasts press more fully into his large hands. Her long hair fell down her back as she tilted her head back against the wall. "Why?" she breathed the question in a sultry whisper. Her voice revealed how aroused she was becoming.

"Because," Gaara nipped at her chin, and let his hands slide into the back of her pants. Fingers slid across a perfectly rounded ass and the edge her panties. "If you don't stay away, then I'm going to do things to you. Things I can't control. Things you wouldn't want to happen. Ever." To seal his threat, he dipped his head low and bit painfully at one swollen nipple.

He licked the pain with a soft hot tongue before sucking the bud into his mouth forcefully. His hands dug into her ass and jerked her forward onto the edge of the bed she was sitting on sideways.

Sakura had to grip the sheets. She felt his arousal pressing into her hips from the new position and a new warm feeling growing in her stomach. Passion was quickly taking over her brain. Gaara was a man who could seep like poison into your entire system. He kissed her. This was practically the first time and there was a firm possession about it that frightened Sakura. As he sucked her tongue into his mouth, she felt cool air on her feet. It wasn't a dream.

She decided to be bold and leaned in to unbutton his shirt. Gaara let her remove the garment and touch his solid yet pale chest. Just this once.

In the meantime he had unbuttoned her jeans and was now working his hand into her small panties.

Two fingers slid against the wet warm slit he found there. When he pressed them inside of her, he felt dizzy. He had to have her, and have her without apologies. Her willingness was the final fuel he needed.

In one quick moment he jerked her jeans and panties free, then pressed his hands against her inner thighs opening them wide. Once again she was forced to hold the edges of the bed.

The mattress shifted softly when he fell to his knees in front of her. Without wasting time, he dipped his head into the small wet hole his fingers had just grazed. There was sweetness to her that he needed to taste.

There was nothing gentle about his seduction. His mouth closed directly onto her small bundle of nerves and stroked it into a blaze of passion in an instant.

Sakura wrapped her legs around his face instinctively as the tingles in her belly spread lower into the area that his mouth was feeding on with intensely. The feeling was almost painful his mouth so hard and firm against her most intimate place. It was the most intense thing she had ever experienced. She found herself verbalizing this realization in the form or involuntary moans that she gave each time his bottom teeth scraped her sensitive bud. It wasn't long until his fingers joined his tongue. Two long fingers slid inside her tight, wet, gaping hole. The sensation made her jerk against his mouth. He was holding her at such an angle that she could not touch him, only hold to the sheets; she needed to feel more than this intimate kiss and play of fingers.

Before she could voice this request, he changed tactics on her clit, and began pulling her in with long hard strokes that ended in several rapid sucks each time he pulled back. Sakura felt her senses heightened, and screamed out as he release hit her fast and unexpectedly. All reserve was gone. Her body's needs had overridden her own brain. He was all she ever needed. Every moan, every sloppy kiss was all he ever wanted.

As she was coming down from her climax, Gaara moved his position. Standing up, he let his pants fall to the floor and his hard shaft have full attention in the room.

He watched Sakura staring at his throbbing member as it jerked and grew to its fullest. She had fear apparent in her eyes; still she reached out to stroke it.

"I don't like to be touched. Only I can touch you" he whispered harshly to her in a voice that did not ask but demand. He resumed his assault of her mouth. She could taste her own juices.

It was much bigger than she had imagined. The thought excited her and made her nervous at the same time. His eyes seemed to bore holes in hers, staring intently like that.

Gripping her knees, he pulled her legs open wide and high against his waist. Sakura's hands flew backwards to keep her from falling she found herself holding the sheets again. She held onto it for dear life as he lifted her hips and ran his large member against her wet mound.

Two times he slid against her, and on the third he drove himself home. It was a hard forceful entrance that left her impaled onto him, buried to her hilt.

Her mouth formed an involuntary "O" as he took his first stroke deep inside.

The pace he sat was not gentle. He began as rough and savage as he had promised. Pain and pleasure from it all made Sakura high with her own arousal. The feeling was intense and maddening. Her breasts shook with each thrust until they were bouncing wildly between their sweating bodies. Gaara pressed her legs higher around him. He hooked his elbows under her knees and bore her harder into the edge of the bed. After a few hard strokes, he pushed her legs together and pressed them over one of his shoulders. This made her even tighter on him, and aroused an almost violent scream from Sakura. He smiled wickedly at her. Just as fast as he had taken her, he pulled away from her. Sakura dropped to the floor in a weakened heap, her knees unable to support her shaking legs. Gaara followed close behind her placing her on all fours on the floor. She felt his thighs against the back of her own. He pressed her head close to the floor, and then pulled her hips higher in the air. In this way he took her once again from behind. This time his hands dug into her hips and pulled her up and down his shaft. Sakura dug at the floor, trying to reach for anything to hold. Never had she been taken so roughly nor by someone so large. It was making her crazy with passion. He was hurting her. His large member bounced in and out against her cervix causing ripples of deep pleasure she had never felt before. At the same time he had stretched her so much that she knew she would bleed afterwards. It was a pain that she was finding intensely pleasurable. Her breasts began rubbing against the floor as he pressed her upper body even further to the floor. His climax was building, and he began to fuck her in long, slow, hard strokes. Her hair fell into her face, and rubbed the floor. On one particularly hard stroke her forehead scraped the floor as well. She knew now that she was completely his. More pain with pleasure. She cried out each time. When the first tear came, he screamed with her and she felt the warmth of his release going deep inside of her. He reached in and stroked her clit fast with his fingers as he pumped more and more of his seed into her. Soon, he felt her jerk against his hand and the familiar tightening and rocking of her own climax milked the last of his own seed free. Juices from their passion ran down her inner thigh as he collapsed on top of her own for a moment. He had to catch his breath and regain his senses. When he finally did he managed to look a little less tense. With that, he looked deep in to her eyes. He took a deep breath. Then killed her.

"I told you I couldn't love you."

_That was my first lemon. I didn't really know how to set the mood so I kind of just stuck it in there. Pretty lame, I know but Gaara is all Gaara like so he couldn't be like let's-have-passionate-sex and Sakura...Well, I couldn't have her like that either because Gaara killed her **mother**. So I tried to make it a lust/they're both insane horny people lemon. -sighs- So much for trying to be a better writer. I'm getting worse. I'm also kind of scared of myself now. I feel like some kind of pervert. Sex fiend! Ahh! Um... Okay, sorry if you hate it (especially that stupid he-killed-her crap-ending). If you flame my ass I wouldn't blame you. In fact, I'll probably join in. But I'm working on my writing, trying to make it less vauge or whatever. I already wrote the last chapter and I think next chapter **is** the last chapter of the whole fic. I'm in editing now I plan to explain all my vagueness so yeah...Uh well, review and critique, please._


	9. Chapter 9

**MERCY ME**

It seemed as though you almost never saw it coming. Not even when your breath no longer breezed past your lips. Not even when you realized the blood on your hands was your own. No, not even when the knife slid in through yourheart. You didn't know. Not until the _colors _briefly came back before they too were gone.

I knew. I knew they were gone. I knew because I could see it in your eyes. In your voice. How throaty your voice sounded as you thanked an invisible man for his mercy. In your smile. It's funny how you died with a smile on your face. When you were alive I've never seen you show anything like it. Nothing as true. As real.

As I gazed down at your lifeless face I realized something. You knew it was coming, didn't you? You knew that I couldn't let you live. You were preparing for it, weren't you? You were preparing to destruct that carefully constructed mask you've built up all your life for what I needed to do. But you wanted death, too, right?

You were waiting your whole life for it to end. But I have news for you, Haruno Sakura, good news. _Their_ real intention wasn't to kill me. It was to kill _you_. You thought I was the killer. But _you_ were. You couldn't see that. Your eyes were blinded by your own hate, by your own selfishness, for the craving of the colors.

You are not only one who can lie. But perhaps the biggest liar was myself.

Looking at you, I realize you love me. But I know, you never loved me for _me_. But I'm okay with that, that fake love; it's the closest thing to the real feeling. I know the feeling. To love someone who doesn't deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because _any _attention is better than no attention at all.

As your cold flesh brushes against mine I remember you, your visits, your lies, my lies, the truth. The birds chirp happily outside as I do. And the colors are beautiful.

_Well I hope you liked it. It's REALLY short but I felt it was for the best. The only thing I can say is: It's finally over! I hated it. I loved it. All things considered, I liked writing this fic.Review please. _


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